


We, Us, You and Me (through time)

by kidcarma



Category: Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types, Super Dangan Ronpa 2
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Character Study, Despair Era (Dangan Ronpa), Dysfunctional Relationships, Hurt No Comfort, Identity Issues, Jabberwock Island (Dangan Ronpa), M/M, Mild Sexual Content, Post-Canon, Relationship Study, Snippets, Time Skips, Towa City, not very cohesive tbh, vent ish
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-21
Updated: 2020-07-21
Packaged: 2021-03-05 01:33:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,109
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25426201
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kidcarma/pseuds/kidcarma
Summary: Nothing is still. Time flows. Things move forward. People change.
Relationships: Hinata Hajime/Komaeda Nagito, Kamukura Izuru/Komaeda Nagito
Comments: 4
Kudos: 107





	We, Us, You and Me (through time)

**Author's Note:**

> i be like. opens my google docs. types a 400 word snippet that i have no idea where else to go with it. throws a bunch of them together in a fic. the end.

Despair is fresh. Despair is new. 

It’s young and it still stings, an open wound and still blooming, still reaching its claws out and seeking to extend into every corner of the world.   
It hasn’t found its way everywhere yet, of course. That’s why they’re here. To carry out her will, spread despair as far as they can. Maybe not necessarily as fast as they can, but it’s always been a hot debate among them- after all, what’s more despairing? A suddenly flurry of chaos pulling everything out from under your feet, turning the world upside down? Or the slow, gradual creeping in until one day you look up and realize the screaming and bloodshed and hopelessness have been your normal for far too long. 

Buildings haven’t toppled yet, and they’re still shaping the world in her image, a manic smile that knows just what to say, and who exactly to say it to, so nobody bothers to question it.   
She’ll have the nicest things, of course, Kamukura thinks to himself as he settles further into the water- one of those fancy corner bathtubs with the jets because despair is great and this hotel is going to be reduced to ashes in a few days, so he might as well enjoy the amenities while he can- and at this very moment she’s probably wracking up a hefty bill with room service, only then to brainwash the staff. Have them blow their own heads off, or better yet throw themselves off the building, thus erasing her debt. 

“Kamukura-sama,” Komaeda calls as he knocks but waits for no response, pushes the bathroom door open all the same. “Is there anything I can get for you?”

“No.”

“Ah.” He’s smiling. Strained but broad, holds his hands together anxiously in front of himself, twisting and tapping his fingers as he debates on saying more.  
“Are you sure?” Komaeda finally brings himself to ask as he steps out from the doorway, moving further into the bathroom, even though he knows Kamukura _is sure_. “I am here to serve you. I’m fully at your disposal! I understand that trash like me can’t even come close to comparing to your abilities but, if I can be useful to you in any way, that’s all I want.” 

Kamukura eyes him over the bubbles.  
“I am sure.”

“You could have let me draw your bath,” Komaeda wheezes, moving closer still. “But perhaps I would have made the water too hot. Or too cold. I’m not good for much but, I’m sure there’s at least one way I could please you.”

Komaeda reaches over, sets his hand on Kamukura’s shoulder and the action is so inherent that Kamukura doesn’t even have to think as he moves- grips him and wrenches his hand away. Yanks. Sends Komaeda backward, stumbling, sliding across the floor until he knocks the back of his skull on the opposite wall. 

He’s still managing to smile giddily through the daze, giddy and eyes landing on the droplets of water clinging to his wrist, wet tracks of a handprint as proof Kamukura had touched him there only moments ago. 

“Haha-” His breath hitches. “Hahaha _hahahahahah_ a-!” Komaeda inhales. “I understand.”  
  


* * *

There are times when Komaeda cannot sleep. 

He tires easily, tires fast, but sometimes he just isn’t tired. Is a mess, a ball of excess energy, bottled up in a body he tries to keep still, to appease. Tapping his foot against the carpet, bouncing his leg, humming idly as he fiddles with the hem of his shirt, but he can’t do that last one so much because this is the nicest and one of the only shirts he owns and _“you’re going to stretch it out,”_ Kamukura scolds him. 

Sometimes Komaeda cannot sleep. But in comparison to Kamukura, these times are few and far between. 

Kamukura, who lives each day with every sense on edge, finely tuned to fit a body worth of the title Ultimate Hope. Hearing, vision, touch, he’s always on high alert, and it makes everything seem brighter, louder. It’s not usually a problem, something he’s learned not only to deal with, but to use to his benefit. 

But when they both can’t sleep, it becomes a problem. 

Kamukura is laying in bed, tucked stiffly under the covers, his eyes are closed so that makes it all the more deafening when Komaeda begins to bounce his leg, drum his fingers along the floor where he’s sitting. Back pressed against the mattress, toward the foot of the bed, like the good dog he is. Not allowed on the bed. Not for sleeping, anyway. 

The sound, no matter how unobtrusive, makes it impossible for Kamukura to relax into the embrace of sleep. Instead, has him zoning in on it, his brain analyzing without his permission and for someone who is so in control of all his facilities, one would think shutting off the mind should come just as easily. 

The subtle noises only get seemingly louder, louder, the rustle of fabric as Komaeda moves, and eventually Kamukura has to grit his teeth.   
He’s not so unkind as to tell Komaeda to be still. Because he would try to be. He would try to repress it, shove the energy deep within himself, but Kamukura knows that’s not conducive to a long term solution. 

There’s a method to handling this, Kamukura has learned. Komaeda simply needs to be tired out. 

It is not an option to send him out unsupervised- make him run, make him walk laps around whatever building they’re holed up in. This runs the risk of him collapsing, of him getting snatched up, which is even worse if Kamukura has managed to drift off by the time it happens- neither of which are favorable outcomes. Both of which are more troublesome to deal with than a night lost to staring at the wall seeing not even a wink of sleep. 

So Kamukura will simply tire him out. 

Usually it goes something like-

“Komaeda,” Kamukura will call out to him, resigned to his fate as he sits up, the blankets piling around his middle as he does. 

Komaeda’s gaze snaps onto him immediately, wide eyed and grinning and still jostling his limbs with his restlessness. 

“Yes, Kamukura?”

“Strip.” 

“Ah, of course.”

Whatever it is, whatever it ends up being, Kamukura will make him do most of the work. Most often, he pulls Komaeda into his lap with the low order of ‘ _ride me_ ’ and that is all he has to say.  
It makes sense, of course, if the objective is to help Komaeda expend all his loose energy. There is the added benefit of tiring Kamukura out, too, on the nights where he has to work extra hard. Where he pins Komaeda to the sheets and thrusts so violently, it makes the bed frame shake. Where he’s got Komaeda up against the wall, hands frantic and scratching at his back. Where he coaxes every muscle in Komaeda’s body to tense when he utters the words ‘ _not yet_ ,’ makes him wait for it, makes him strain in order to hold himself back. If he’s feeling particularly bored or fed up with routine, he’ll recline, beckon Komaeda on top of him and give the order of ‘ _fuck me_ ,’ and _really_ make him earn it. 

Komaeda is so easy they hardly ever need a preamble, and Kamukura is never interested in spending more time than necessary on a task he is interested in seeing through to the end in the interest of saving time. Which is more than fine with Komaeda. Anything Kamukura will give him is more than fine. More than he could ever ask for, really. 

There are times when they’re not as hurried though, not as frenzied, desperate to lose themselves in each other only for the sake of reaching an exhausted end. And in those times, if Komaeda closes his eyes and tries hard enough, he can imagine the touches are almost tender, almost soft, almost like he’s deserving or worthy of that. But when he opens his eyes, it comes crashing into him again that he’s not. 

So this is better. 

To have a rush to shirk off his clothes, to scramble into the bed and give into any way Kamukura will have him, even if it only is to get him to sleep. Covered in sweat and spit and slick, at least he’s in the same bed. At least he can sleep in the same bed. 

This is better.   
  


* * *

“If I am the Ultimate Everything, why am I unable to truly see the world through your eyes. I am not able to feel the way you do. Is empathy not a skill?”

“I-“

“It should be within me, somewhere,” Kamukura rationalizes. “Ultimate Therapist, perhaps. That would certainly warrant it. Yet, it is not.” 

“But- you are hope itself, Kamukura.” Komaeda’s grin is so wide and forced, his cheeks are starting to hurt. “You are perfect.”

“That is what they created me to be.” Kamukura is staring at the wall. “Emotions excised to make room for talent. But setting out to cultivate something like me, and removing the ability to feel.” He pauses. “I am a contradiction.” 

“No-“

“My existence-“

“No!”

The instant Komaeda raises his volume, and realizes what he has done, he snaps his jaw shut. Eyes wide and watching Kamukura, not necessarily expecting an adverse reaction because Kamukura never reacts but he can’t help himself but visualize all the ways Kamukura might snuff out his impertinent life, if it benefited him to do so.

“Kamukura is…” Komaeda swallows. “Kamukura is never wrong. But. You are wonderful. You are everything. You let hope flourish-“

“I do not care about hope. I do not care about despair. I do not care about anything.”

“Ah.” Twisting his fingers into the hem of his shirt, Komaeda nods unsteadily. “But, surely you-“

“You could die, and I would feel no remorse. I have stared death in the face many times, and felt nothing but apathy toward my mortality. The world could fall to despair, or rise above it into hope, and it would make no difference to me. I am only here to witness. To watch, as a passerby. My existence is a fleeting one. It is foolish to believe I will be around for long.”   
  


* * *

  
“I’m more like I used to be than you realize, you know.”

“Huh?” Komaeda says. Tilts his head. The stick of the sea salt air clings to his lips, whips his hair around, obscures his view of Hinata but not so much that he can’t see the way Hinata’s brows draw together. In concern? Concentration?

“But I guess that’s the point. You’re not really supposed to realize it.” 

“I’m sorry Hinata, I don’t think I follow.” 

Hinata huffs a sigh, shifts. Rests his head against the palm tree where he’s standing, sneakers in the sand and closes his eyes. He rolls his shoulders, settling into something within himself, and when he opens his eyes again, Komaeda is thrown back in time because suddenly he’s there, months ago. Sitting by Kamukura’s side, the backdrop a sky smeared with endless red fog, looking into eyes devoid of emotion and suddenly Komaeda understands. 

“Oh,” he gasps on his inhale. Moves to sit by Hinata’s feet because _of course_ he does because it’s habit. 

“There’s really no need for that anymore.”

“Sorry,” Komaeda apologizes- another habit- as he lifts himself up but he can’t bring himself to go any higher than kneeling. Grains of sand cling to his jeans.

“I have wants now, you know,” Hinata tells him, just a touch too deadpan. “Not passively watching as hope and despair waged their war on this world, curious to see which came out on top. Active wants. Things I desire. Things I seek out. But I’m still _bored_.” 

“What do you want, Hinata?”

Lips drawn into a line, Hinata casts his gaze downward to where Komaeda is kneeling, rolls the question around in his mind.

“Do you know how frustrating it is to want something, but not feel satisfied when you get it?” he says in lieu of an answer. “To know I’ve gotten what I wanted but I- I have to emulate gratification. Happiness. But then I have to wonder if I’ve gotten so skilled- so _talented_ at pretending how to feel, that maybe my feelings are real after all. How am I supposed to know? Aren’t I supposed to know everything?”

“I,” Komaeda falters. He can’t answer this one. “I don’t know.”

“Yeah,” Hinata laughs, mirthless. He sinks down into the sand, rests his head on Komaeda’s shoulder. “I don’t know either.”

**Author's Note:**

> dont mind me fellas i am just on my third emotional crisis of the week (its only tuesday)


End file.
